Matters of the Heart
by Mireille DeMaupassant
Summary: This one's for the younger ones! When her father's disappeared without a trace and she finds herself in the care of her sworn enemy, Deirdre Authea knows there's something shady going down and she's determined to get to the bottom of it...for her's and he


**Feech's Note:** Okay, so I found this story from like ages ago, in my pre smutty slash phase! It's definitely less "graphic" than the fan fiction I usually write. I guess this is just my way of making myself feel less guilty or sumthing. Anyway, leave a review if you like. Peaches!

**Disclaimer:** You know what I'm going to say so why even bother asking...

**Chapter 1: Call of the Dark Lord**

Throughout his entire life, Silas Blackwall had seen only two surprises, and though few they were, both of them changed his life, as he knew it. To many, this would seem quite normal but, to a wizard of his profession, it was most unusual. You see, Mr. Blackwall was an alchemist, one of the most famous alchemists in the wizarding world to be exact (but you'd never know it because of his modesty) and, in becoming an alchemist; he had pledged himself to a life of solitude. So, two surprises was two too many. Since the day he had finished his schooling at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with top marks in Potions, he had been living alone. First, in a small flat above a pub in muggle London, then, in a midsize house at the edge of the wizard village, Hogsmeade, and finally, in a great manor, hidden somewhere, in the mountains. Even though, as the years went by, the size of his home increased, the number of residents always remained the same.

This was the way he lived his life until the first of two surprises occurred. It was as subtle as a knock on his front door. In fact, it was a knock on his front door. Regrettably, he was so enveloped in his work that he decided not to answer it. The knocker, on the other hand, did not share the same thoughts and decided to persist. Feeling very vexed, he went to the door and threw it open, ready to scream at whoever it was to go away, but stopped dead when he caught sight of who was standing in front of him.

She was very small, and thin, as if she had been starving or living on meager rations. She didn't look a day over eight years old. Her dark skin, identical to his, was blotched by patches of dirt, on her face and arms. The muggle clothes she wore were torn and he could see the exhaustion radiating from her, almond shaped, amethyst eyes and through the lenses of her oval shaped glasses, but the moment he opened the door, her face slightly lit up. She opened her mouth, slightly, and said, "Daddy", before swaying on the spot and fainting. Fortunately, his brain regained the ability to function at that exact moment and he was able to catch her before she hit the ground. He carried her upstairs to one of the bedrooms and laid her down on the bed. She looked even smaller, lying on the spacious divan. As he watched her lay there, unconscious, he noticed a folded piece of parchment hanging out of the pocket of her jeans. He pulled it out and unfolded it. It was a letter.

_Silas Blackwall,_

_If you are reading this letter, it means I am no longer here and your daughter had found you. Her name is Deirdre. Yes, I said your daughter. I know it's a lot to take in right now, but that little girl is our child. I don't know if you remember but eleven years ago, you went to the United States for three months. While there, you met me. We had a wonderful time and on your last night there, we shared a "magical" experience. This child is the result of that experience. I found out about her a week after you left the states. I was going to send you an owl, right away, but I realized I didn't know where you lived. Then, I read about your work in the daily prophet and decided not to even bother. It was stupid, I know, but I was only thinking about what was best for you. _

_Well, seven years later, I was diagnosed with stomach cancer. It had spread so far that none of the doctors, muggle or magic, could do anything for me. They gave me a year but I managed to squeeze out three._

_I'm writing to you from my bed now and I know I don't have much time left so, I've told Deirdre that as soon as I go, she's to find her father. I knew if anyone could do it she could._

_All of this is hard to believe, I know, but please, try to accept it and take Deirdre in as your daughter. She's hasn't got anywhere else to go. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner and I'm sorry you had to find out like this._

_With Love,_

_Angevine M. Authea_

As soon as he read the name, Silas knew who had sent him the letter. He read it once more before letting his arms hang loose and sinking into the armchair placed next to the bed. His thoughts immediately went to the three months he spent in America. He was twenty-seven at the time, and sent to the States to study muggle substances (undercover, of course), by his childhood hero, Nicholas Flamel, for whom he was interning. He considered it a great honor and took his job very seriously...at first.

His first day on the job, he was researching the substance called alcohol in an American pub when he saw an image of beauty standing behind the counter, wiping it down with a red rag. The fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling illuminated her caramel colored skin. Her short curly, brown, hair gently caressed her cheeks. She had on a pair of tight jeans and a fitted t-shirt with a large British flag across the front. As he watched her clean off the counter, she looked up at him and smiled. Before he could smile back, she was already walking toward him. When she was standing across from him, she smiled again.

"So," he said to her, "are you English or do you just really like the country?"

She leaned her face closer to his. "Is that suppose to be a line?" she asked, with a natural British accent.

That was the beginning of the best three months of his life. They went out together, had dinner and drinks. For the first time in his life, his work was not the most important thing on his mind. He had met a young, beautiful, angelic woman and he was on the verge of falling in love with her. A few weeks later, the topic of what he was doing in America came up. Lost in the feeling of comfort he felt with her, he let slip that he was on business with Nicholas Flamel. Her response to his answer was what really threw him off.

"Nicholas Flamel?" she said, "you work for Nicholas Flamel? Merlin's beard, that's absolutely wonderful. That must mean you're a really spectacular alchemist because I've never heard of him to take on any employees."

His mouth dropped open. "You know Nicholas Flamel?" he asked, stupidly

"Of course I know Nicholas Flamel!" said with an as-a-matter-of-fact tone, "What full grown witch or wizard doesn't?"

He chuckled. "So, you're a witch?" She nodded. "And you knew I was a wizard?" She nodded again. "How?"

"Well," she answered, "I couldn't help but notice how uncomfortable you look in muggle clothing. I can tell you're more accustomed to robes."

He laughed. They got more into his work and then they started to talk about her. As the time came for him to go back to England, his heart grew more and more heavy. He didn't want to leave her but he knew he had to. Fortunately, when the dreaded time came, she completely understood, which made her even harder to leave. She knew how important his work was to him and let him go without a fuss. And so, he left, and didn't look back. For a long time, he couldn't think about anything but her. But, as the days passed on, his mind quickly returned to his work and he forgot about her.

Silas's reminiscing was interrupted by sounds of Deirdre stirring awake. He leapt from his seat and was at her side. He watched her eyes slowly open. When they fell upon him, he was rendered speechless. Then, she opened her mouth and, in a tiny voice asked, "Are you really...are you my father?" Her small chest heaved in anticipation. Still unable to speak, he simply nodded. She smiled once again, and let her eyes fall shut. He gently took the glasses off her face and placed them on the bedside table before sitting in the armchair.

"Eleven years ago?" he asked himself. "That would make her ten years old." He looked at the sleeping child. She's so small, he thought to himself. He sighed heavily as his thoughts began to drift towards the future.

From that day on, he lived his life differently. Instead of staying cooped in his house all day, he actually went out with his daughter. He found out more about her and her mother while working hard to be a good father. For a long time, it seemed as if he was becoming a new man. He enrolled Deirdre into the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and he seemed to be starting a new life.

Unfortunately, his new life lasted a little under two years. When Deirdre returned from her first year at Hogwarts, he began return to his life as a hermit, working on a new project. It started slowly at first. He would only be down in his lab one day a week. Then, one day turned into two and two turned into three. Soon, he was down in his lab every hour of every day, not thinking about the effect he was having on Deirdre's life.

The years went by and they grew further and further apart. It got to a point where they didn't see or hear anything from each other, even though they lived in the same house.

The second of his two surprises arrived on August 27, at exactly three o'clock in the afternoon. Like every day of the past several years, he had been downstairs, in his cellar laboratory, working on his latest project. He was on the verge of what he thought was a magical breakthrough, when there was a small, barely audible, tapping at his door. Thinking it was only Deirdre, he went to open the door but, to his surprise, he found not his fifteen-year-old daughter but a rather large eagle owl, sitting at his feet, with a rolled up piece of parchment, clamped tightly in its beak. To any other wizard, this sight would have been a normal one but, not to Silas Blackwall. In fact, the sight of an owl other than his own sitting at his door greatly perplexed him.

It was well known in the wizarding world that, for the better part of his adult life, he made sure that his whereabouts remained unknown to everyone but himself and one or two other wizards very close to him. And when he needed to communicate with them, or they with him, he would always send his own screech owl, Persephone. He went to great lengths to make it impossible for any other wizard to contact him and yet, right in front of him, a large eagle owl, of origin unknown to him, sat staring up at him with large glassy eyes. Having no other choice, he bent down and took the parchment from its beak. Immediately after him doing so, the owl took off. Paying no regard to it, he proceeded with unrolling the letter. When he did so, he found himself facing the two most horrifying sentences he'd ever read, written in bright scarlet ink.

_Silas Blackwall,_

_The Dark Lord calls upon you. He comes to you at midnight tonight._

There was no signature. Silas read and reread the letter over and over, as if searching for something he missed or some sort of hidden meaning. Anything that would tell him what he read wasn't what it seemed. Unfortunately, he found no such psychological refuge. What he read was what it meant. The Dark Lord was coming to his home, at midnight that evening. He began to panic. What should he do? He asked himself this over and over as he paced the length of his laboratory. After several minutes, the answer came to him as a small whisper at the back of his mind. Run.

Still clutching the letter tightly in his hand, he raced out of the laboratory, down the stony hall, and up the flight of wooden stairs that led to a trapdoor. He climbed through it and found himself in his kitchen fireplace. For one quick instant, he didn't recognize it. Then he realized that this was the first time in months he'd left his laboratory while the sun was still up. He stared out at it for a moment. A small slip of parchment sat on the table, folded once over. He took it from the table and unfolded it. It was a note from his daughter.

_Out. Be back later._

_D._

All of a sudden, he remembered he had a daughter and he couldn't leave without her. He would just have to wait until she returned. Until then, he would be getting himself ready. With the same speed he used earlier, he raced out of the kitchen and up two flights of stairs to his bedroom. As if waiting for him, his large black trunk sat at the edge of his bed, the lid wide open. He went to his bureau and began to empty the drawers out into the trunk. When it was close to half full, he realized the letter was still in his hand. For reasons unknown to even himself, he sat down on his large bed and read it again. This time, as he read the two sentences, the absurdity of his situation began to sink in. The Dark Lord, he thought, after him? The thought alone was so ludicrous that he even began to laugh at the concept. What did he have that the Dark Lord could possibly want? After a bit more quiet laughter, he surmised that the letter was just some sort of cruel hoax, played by one of his colleagues. Not giving it a second thought, he left the room and incuriously traipsed back to his laboratory.

As soon as he returned to his work, his mind was at ease and any remaining thoughts about the Dark Lord were replaced by calculations and measurements. When he finally finished his work, for the day, he sauntered up to the main of his home. Upon entering the sitting room, he realized he had the letter in his hand, again. After deciding that he must have absentmindedly picked it up on his way out, he took a seat in his favorite armchair. It was pitch black but he knew from memory that the fireplace was exactly across from him. He reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out his wand. Pointing blindly in front of him, he muttered "_Incendio_" and bright orange flames immediately danced to life in the dark hearth, filling the room with a wave of heat and brilliantly orange light.

He peered the bright orange flames dancing in the great fireplace, clutching the wrinkled piece of parchment. Succeeding his decision to sit there, he had begun to think about the letter again. Was he to expect something at midnight that evening? Surely, whoever sent him the letter wouldn't go to all that trouble, only to scare him. A moment passed and he was about to dismiss the thought as another absurdity but his curiosity got the better of him. He decided to wait.

The hours came and went and it was now five minutes of twelve. Only five minutes to go, he thought to himself. He glared anxiously at the clock above the wooden shelf over the fireplace, counting along as each minute ticked away. Soon, there was only one minute left. He swallowed hard and continued to stare at the clock. Thirty seconds. His breaths became heavy and deep. Twenty seconds. His hands became damp with nervous sweat. Ten...nine...eight...he could feel his heart pounding in his throat ...four...three...two...one...

BONG!

Silas nearly jumped out of his skin when the ancient grandfather clock, lurking in the corner of the room, rang for the first time. Five seconds later, it rang again, and once more after another five seconds. The clock continued to ring every five seconds for the next minute. When it stopped, it was one after twelve. He looked around the room. It was quiet, once again, and most importantly, still empty. He stood up and smiled triumphantly at the vacant room. Certainly, if the "Dark Lord" was going to go to the trouble of threatening him, he mused with himself, the least he could do was show up on time. He chuckled heartily to himself and went into a well-needed stretch. It was late and he needed to be returning to his work early the next morning. As he brought his arms back down, he was startled by a soft pop from behind him. When he turned around he found himself standing before a tall, thin, figure, wearing a long black cloak. The hood was pulled up, making the figure's face invisible to him but he didn't need to see a face to know what it was, towering over him. Before he could speak, two arms, enveloped in long black sleeves, protruded from the cloak and rose to the hood. The sleeves fell back, revealing two sets of bone thin, whiter than white, fingers. They grasped the edges of the hood and pulled it down.

Two deep scarlet eyes, sitting upon an alabaster face, stared down at him. The two black slits swimming within them pierced through his two pupils and chilled his soul. Feeling as if he was under a full body bind, he helplessly stared back. Just inches below the eyes, a thin lipless mouth opened and produced a high, bone chillingly cold, voice.

"Silas Blackwall," the Dark Lord said, "at last we meet, face to face." He looked down at the motionless wizard. "Well, don't just stand there," he snarled, "bow down to your master."

Then, more quickly than he'd ever seen any other wizard do, the Dark Lord reached into his cloak, pulled out a wand and raised it. Immediately following these actions, Silas felt his spine bend, ruthlessly, forward, as if a giant's hands were pushing him. When the wand was lowered, the pressure subsided and he was able to return to his full stature.

"Much better," the Dark Lord said, sinisterly, "Now, I assume you know why I am here?"

Silas's fear rushed back into him. He hadn't thought about why the Dark Lord had come to him. "Actually, your L-Lordship," he said, tentatively, "I d-don't. I am but an ordinary wizard."

The sneer instantly vanished from the Dark Lord's face. He shot a hot glare down at Silas, who was ready to faint. "An ordinary wizard?" he hissed.

Silas knew it. He was going to die, right then and there. An eternity of silence passed between them in which neither of them moved. Without warning, the slit that was the Dark Lord's mouth jerked open, releasing a fit of bitter, mirthless, maniacal, laughter. Silas jumped at the high, hollow, sound. Then, as abruptly as it began, it ceased. The Dark Lord spoke.

"Really, Blackwall," he said, "I know you're modest but I didn't think it went to the point of stupidity." His face became as cold as stone. "Did you or did you not leave the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with marks in potions second only to my own?" Silas gently tipped his head forward. "And do you or do you not devote your life to the study of potions?" Silas nodded again. "Well, then, surely you must know why I'm here."

"M-m-my work?" Silas muttered, almost inaudibly.

"Precisely." The Dark Lord hissed, maliciously. The ends of his thin mouth curled up into a menacing smile. "In order for me to succeed with my plan to power, I need to concoct a certain potion. Unfortunately, it is a potion that even the great Lord Voldemort can't figure out on his own so, I need a wizard of your...caliber, to aid me."

"So," Silas whispered, "you want me to help you?" The Dark Lord slightly inclined his head into a civil nod. Feeling a little braver with his newfound knowledge, he spoke again. "What if..." he began, "what if...I refuse? Will you kill me?"

He waited anxiously for the Dark Lord's response. Again, he smiled, twistedly. "You will die Blackwall," he whispered, "but I won't be the one to kill you." Silas was about to query the meaning of what he said but before he could do so, he heard the subtle pop of some one apparating behind him. He turned around and saw billowing black robe with a ghostly white face. His gaze slowly turned back to the Dark Lord. "Ah," the overlord sighed, "my family arrives."

In the next few moments, the only sound that could be heard over the crackling of the fire was several more pops. Before long, the room was filled with dark figures, identical to the first. Silas was surrounded.

"Now, Silas," the Dark Lord said, "The choice is yours. You can join me and gain great power, or you can refuse and gain certain death, by the hand of my faithful servants." At that moment, every one of the robed figures reached into their robes and pulled out a wand.

An uneasy silence washed over the room and Silas was left with his thoughts. What was he to do? The Dark Lord had just basically promised him power if he joined him and death if he didn't. So what other choice did he have?

He fell to one knee and bowed his head. "My Lord," he said solemnly.

"A wise decision," the Dark Lord said, contently. "Now, rise. We must leave at once."

Silas raised his head but, as he did so, he was struck with a sudden realization. "Deirdre," he said loudly, "what about Deirdre?"

"Do not worry," the Dark Lord answered, "because you have decided to help Lord Voldemort, I will do you the favor of keeping your daughter safe. She will be residing with one of my most faithful servants." He raised his arm and pointed to the first figure to apparate. The figure inclined their hooded head before raising gloved hands to pull off the hood and take off the mask. Icy gray eyes stared blankly at him while white blond hair was illuminated by the golden glow of the fire.

Lucius Malfoy stepped into the circle of robes and approached Silas and the Dark Lord. "Well, hello Silas." he said, in a cool almost whisper.

"Lucius?" Silas asked, in disbelief, "Lucius Malfoy? I haven't seen you since"

"Since our good old Hogwarts days." Lucius said, bitterly.

"Now, now, boys," the Dark Lord interposed, "I'm sure you two have matured enough to be able to put your petty childhood squabbles behind you."

Silas looked into the misty eyes of his rival, as his mind was flooded with memories of their school days. He remembered everything, the taunting and the dueling. He especially remembered the competition between the two of them. From the very first day of their very first year, both of them knew two things. The first was that they didn't like each other. The second was that only one man was going to walk out of that school on top.

An exultant smirk sprang to Silas's face as he remembered that he was that man, and the look that sprang to Lucius's face (resembling the look of one who has just had dung shoved up their nose) told him he remembered too. Being the bigger man, Silas held out his hand. "Take care of my daughter," he said. "She's...important to me."

Lucius took his hand, squeezed it firmly, and let it go. "Don't worry," he said with a malicious air, "I will."

"Very good," the Dark Lord said, somewhat breaking the tension between the two men, "Now, Blackwall, we really must be g"

His words were interrupted by a loud creak that came from the staircase. Before Silas could even look in that direction, he saw at least a dozen bolts of red light fly past him, to the stairs. Then he heard the thumping sounds of a body rolling down them. Seconds later, his daughter's lifeless body fell onto the dusty hardwood floor, into the light of the fire. "Deirdre!" he shouted. He wanted to run to her but Lucius's voice stopped him from doing so.

"She'll be fine, Silas," he said composedly, "She's only been stunned."

"Are you sure?" Silas asked.

"Positive." Lucius answered, "I will take her to my house tonight and bring her back tomorrow to collect her things."

"But, what if she saw...or heard..."

Lucius smiled. "Don't worry. I'm sure those stunners were powerful enough to make any memory of tonight the remnants of a bad dreams."

Silas sighed heavily. "Alright," he agreed.

"Well," the Dark Lord said, "now that we've got those matters all squared away, we really _must_ be going." His emphasis on the word "must" told the two that their master was beginning to become vexed. Silas turned to the Dark Lord, who was holding out a quill that he had turned into a portkey. He grabbed hold of it. "One, two, three," he heard the Dark Lord say. Then he was thrown into a world of bright swirling colors.


End file.
